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Though inclination be as sharp as will42:
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,
And like a man to double business bound44,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy49
But to confront the visage of offence?
And what's in prayer but this two-fold force,
To be forestalled52 ere we come to fall,
Or pardoned being down? Then I'll look up:
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn55? 'Forgive me my foul murder'?
That cannot be, since I am still possessed
Of those effects57 for which I did the murder:
My crown, mine own ambition and my queen.
May one be pardoned and retain th'offence59?
In the corrupted currents60 of this world
Offence's gilded hand may shove by61 justice,
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law. But 'tis not so above:
There is no shuffling, there the action lies64
In his true nature, and we ourselves compelled,
Even to the teeth and forehead66 of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? What rests67?
Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
O, wretched state! O, bosom black as death!
O, limed71 soul that, struggling to be free,
